Inconceivable
by Natasha-Von-Lecter
Summary: Updated with Chapter 5! Big thanks again, to la tante, my great beta. Carol decides she wants a child - what is Tony's role in her plans? And what does he think about that?
1. Chapter 1

"Would that be such a horrible prospect?"

The air crackles between them, as his mind desperately searches for the right thing to say. The proper balance of humor and sincerity. Because what he wants to say is, "No, Carol, it's a terrifying prospect. And it's a wonderful prospect. I'd like to take you home and make love to you, but I'm afraid to fail you." But you can't very well say that to normal people can you? He knows, from a long and painful history of being misunderstood and alienating everyone around him, that what he'd like to say is very, very rarely what he ought to say. His mind catches up with him, offering up a convenient bit of repartee that sounds suspiciously like a line from the telly. He fumbles over the words.

"No, it's just that there's not much room on your desk."

She smiles to be polite, but her eyes are still grave.

"Don't pull another stunt like that, Tony. I need you."

And the silence stretches out between them. He tilts his head questioningly, trying to encourage her to speak first. He is aware it is cowardly, but he is too unsure of his footing to risk blurting out the wrong thing.

She gets up from her perch on the side of the desk and shuffles some paperwork. Disconcerted, he blinks at the empty space before him and rises to leave. Her voice checks his stride at the door.

"Can I come over later?"

"Of course, Carol."

He regards her for a moment, realizing that she won't be going into any more detail in the semi-public atmosphere of her office. When she looks up from her paperwork, he's a spec disappearing down the hallway.

Carol keeps pushing papers around her desk for nearly an hour before she finally screws up her courage and calls it a night. During the drive to Tony's flat she rehearses what she's going to say. It takes on a sing-song quality in her head, the words repeating over and over again, mocking her. Sooner than expected, she's pacing his front steps, working up the nerve to ring his doorbell. She doesn't notice the door swing open silently on its hinges, or even register the fact that Tony is watching her intently from just a few steps away.

"Aren't you cold?"

She startles and nearly jumps, but keeps her feet under her. She lets out a startled laugh, smiling to cover her nerves. Cursing inwardly - she knows she must look like a nutter - she trudges up the steps. She shrugs her coat down her shoulders and he instinctively reaches to remove it from her. She shivers as his fingers brush the back of her neck. He notices her reaction, and presses his hand against her back.

"You are cold. Do you want to keep it on?"

"No, no. I'm fine. Really."

He takes the garment and hangs it on the rack by the door.

"Wine?"

It sounds heavenly. And the thought flashes through her mind - Better enjoy it now.

"That'd be lovely."

She settles in on the couch as he hunts down one of her favorite reds. It does not escape her notice that he pays attention to all the little details, and remembers. She hears the distinct pop of cork, the wine trickling into the glasses. A moment later he is standing above her, a glass of Shiraz extended to her. She takes it gratefully as he sinks into the chair opposite her. They sit in companionable silence, as he waits for her to speak. All in her own good time.

"So..."

He raises an eyebrow at her. "So?"

She runs her finger around the rim of her depleted glass.

"Sorry...can I have some more, please?"

He tips the bottle and the dark red liquid pours forth.

"Thanks."

After half a glass more, she can finally feel the effects kicking in, mellowing. It's now or never, she tells herself.

"Tony...I have a favor to ask you."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. And it's...it's a rather large favor."

"Is it?"

She pats the couch next to her, and he moves to join her. They sit very close, almost touching. She takes another swig of her wine. And then they are touching, his hand gently closed around hers. He removes her wine glass and sets it on the table. But he does not release her hand.

"Ask me, Carol."

She meets his eyes and finally finds her voice.

"Do you remember that penny I dropped on you?"

He stiffens a bit, his suspicions confirmed, but he keeps hold of her hand. She's shaking.

"I do."

"I want a baby."

He smiles at her, but his eyes are sad. Because he knows that this is the first step towards losing her. Not that he really has her now, but he has parts of her. They have time, and wine, and dinners. It's not a conventional relationship, but it fills so much of his need for human contact. A child would change all that. Her free time would no longer be her own. She'd owe it to that child. He knows that this child would occupy the greater part of her heart. And he thinks she'll no longer have room for him. It saddens him - but he can at least take comfort in knowing that she will be happier. Her happiness means everything to him.

He puts on his most convincing smile, and gives her hand an affectionate squeeze.

"You want me to go to the clinic with you? Flip through the book and help you pick out the genetic material of your dreams?"

She strokes her thumb along his hand in a gentle caress. It's difficult, but she tilts her chin up and looks him square in his impossibly blue eyes.

"Tony, I want you to be the donor."

Surprise, tittering on shock, registers on his face. He drops her hand and grasps the wine glass nearest to him. He doesn't know if it's hers or his. He doesn't care, either. He drains it in a single go.


	2. Chapter 2

His face is blank, and suddenly she feels very uneasy. His wide-eyed, silent stare makes her desperate to fill up the dead air with reassurances.

"Of course, I wouldn't expect you to contribute financially. You know I make enough for us to get on fine and, he wouldn't have to know that you..."

He's turned away from her now, deep into himself, his eyes skimming the carpet without really seeing. She feels a shiver run through her - it's like being in the room with a corpse. She leans gently into him, placing her hand on his leg. In an instant, his mask is back up and he's the same old Tony. Except that he recoils from her touch. Except that she knows that smile isn't real. She tries again, giving his thigh a little squeeze.

"Tony, say something."

"What do you want me to say, Carol?"

She ventures a conciliatory smile "Yes, obviously."

He nods his head up and down a few times, but it's clear that he's not agreeing to her proposal.

"Can I have some time to think?"

She tries to keep the hurt from straining her features, and she does a half-way decent job.

"Yeah, of course."

He rises and disappears into the kitchen, leaving her alone on the couch. She blinks, confused. She hadn't exactly expected him to throw his arms around her and cry tears of joy, but neither did she envision this chilly reception. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence she follows him into the kitchen. She finds him leaning against the sink, staring intently at the tiles. His head snaps around when she softly calls his name from the doorway.

"Tony...Did I say something wrong?"

He looks in her direction, without looking at her.

"I...I need some time to think."

"Ok. Um...shall I go?"

He sighs heavily and finally looks her directly in the eye. There is no mirth in his expression.

"Yeah, I think that's best. Good night, Carol."

She wants to traverse the small span of the kitchen floor and wrap her arms around him, but his demeanor advises against such actions.

"I'll talk to you later, then."

He nods. Utterly bewildered, she makes her way to the foyer. At the door she calls out goodnight, but he does not answer her. Back home at her own flat, a very confused Carol Jordan beds down for the night. Sleep eludes her.


	3. Chapter 3

She can't remember the last time they've gone a week without speaking to each other. The days seem to stretch out forever. She wants to ring him, or drop by his flat, but understands he needs his space to think the matter through. So she waits. And waits. And waits. Seven days later, he finally calls her. She sees his name on the caller ID, waits a three rings, and then answers.

"Tony. Hi."

"Carol."

He sounds like his old friendly self, and she breathes a sigh of relief.

"How've you been?"

"Fine. Good. Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?"

She smiles, a bit surprised. But his invitation gives her hope.

"Yeah, I'd like that. Shall I bring a curry round to your place?"

There is a distinct pause before he answers her.

"No. Let's go out, shall we?"

"Sure."

"Antonio's, say seven-thirty?"

She raises her eyebrow at the mention of one of Bradfield's more stylish eateries. And she wonders.

"I'll meet you there."

"Good bye, Carol."

"Bye, Tony. See you later."

She sets down the phone and collapses back against her couch. His choice of restaurant is far from typical. In fact she knows they've never dined in such a prestigious location before. She tells herself to relax, to wait and see, but in her heart she has already started celebrating.

Carol arrives promptly at seven-thirty; Tony is already waiting for her. His clothes are a step up from his normal attire – not quite a custom cut suit, but a vast improvement from his usual wrinkled slacks and button down. She hurries to his side.

"You look lovely, Carol."

"Thank you. You're looking rather smart yourself."

He smiles self-deprecatingly and takes her by the elbow. She follows him to their table. It's not exactly a romantic corner booth, but it is cozy. He pulls out her chair for her, then settles into the seat facing her.

"You look lovely."

"You just said that."

"Did I?"

She nods, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"Still true though. Up for some wine?"

"I'd love some."

He peruses the menu and chooses an Australian Shiraz similar to what they usually imbibe in at his flat. And then they have no further business to attend to until the wine is delivered. She leans a bit across the table, expectancy sharpening her features.

"So?"

"So?" He echoes, not taking the bait.

"Have you considered what we talked about?"

A very odd thing happens. He lets out a long sigh and his shoulders slump a fraction of an inch.

"No time for chit chat?"

She looks at him, confused. She can't quite suss out what he's up to. He cuts her off before she can answer.

"I was hoping to enjoy a nice dinner with you first, before we got down to brass tacks. But I can see you're anxious to get that out of the way."

"No, Tony, that's not it all. I'm just…excited I suppose."

"I see."

The waiter interrupts their conversation, presenting the bottle of wine. Tony waves his acceptance in the waiter's general direction. In a matter of moments the wine has been uncorked, poured, and swirled into their glasses.

The silence is strained. Carol begins to worry.

"Tony…have I done something wrong?"

"Wrong?" He ponders the question for a moment, taking a hearty sip of Dutch courage. "That's such an abstract concept."

"You could have just said 'no'" She ventures.

"No, you haven't done anything wrong, Carol. But I don't think you're going to like what I have to say next."

Her heart knocks in her chest and her hands suddenly feel clammy.

"Oh?" Is all she manages.

"I have considered your request, Carol. And I'm not going to be your donor."

She feels tears welling up unexpectedly and shifts her gaze upwards, wiling them to slide back into her eyes. Tony reaches across the table and grasps her hand in his.

"I'm sorry, Carol. I can't."

She keeps reminding herself that she can't be angry with him, or hurt. That she doesn't have a right to expect his compliance, and that it isn't a rejection of her personally. That he has his reasons. But his refusal stings so keenly she could cry. Instead she steels herself up, takes a deep breath and levels her gaze at him.

"Then why did you bring me here? It's a bit posh if you just wanted break bad news to me, don't you think?"

He strokes his thumb over the back of her hand.

"I wanted to take you out somewhere nice." He sighs and withdraws his hand. "This was a bad idea. I'm sorry. Do you want to just finish the wine and go?"

She pinches the skin above her eyebrow.

"I really would."

Tony catches the waiter's attention, mutters something about his companion's headache, and settles the check. In a matter of moments they are back out on the street. Carol looks crestfallen, standing in the cold night air. He removes his jacket and drapes it over her. Tentatively, he wraps his arm about her shoulders, and leans his head into hers. He whispers softly into her ear and she has to fight back tears.

"Did you bring your car?"

"No, I took a cab."

"Let me take you home."

She allows him to Shepard her to his car. They drive on in silence, the street lights casting strange shadows across their faces. When he pulls to the curb in front of her flat he doesn't switch off the car. They sit with the motor gently idling.

"Will you come in?

He shakes his head.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Carol."

"Please?"

He peeks across at her from the corner of his eye. The look on his face surprises her. He looks heartbroken. She's run through so many expected reactions in her mind, but this is not one of them. For the life of her she can't understand what's wrong.

He gets out of the car and comes around her side. Helping her out, they walk up her steps.

"More wine?" She asks.

"I have to drive. I really shouldn't"

"But?"

"But I'll have another glass."

She brings it to him, and then joins him on the couch. And even though she's flummoxed and hurt she still wants to be near him. She leans against him, closer than usual. He stiffens slightly, but she doesn't care. She wants to get to the bottom of things.

"Tony, what's wrong?"

He exhales slowly, his breath hissing out from his puffed cheeks.

"I dunno."

"Yes you do. You've been acting like a weirdo since I asked you. Even more of a weirdo than usual."

"Yeah, I suppose I have."

"And?"

"And what?"

"An explanation? Tony, you have every right to say no, but it's not fair to just leave it at that. I need to know why."

"Do you?"

"Quit messing about."

"It's a bad idea, Carol."

Her mouth drops open in a look of surprise and hurt. It feels like a slap in the face.

"You don't think I'd be a good mum?"

He instantly regrets his choice of words. He lays his hand aside her face and touches his forehead to hers.

"You will be a wonderful mother. Believe me; I have no doubts about you at all."

"I don't understand."

"I'm being very selfish, Carol. Let's just leave it at that, alright?"

"No. Tell me."

He startles her by placing a tentative kiss on her cheek, just at the tender corner of her mouth. She feels lost when he pulls away and leaves the couch, but she gives him a moment to pace. He is gathering his thoughts, choosing his words carefully.

"You don't want to do this with me."

She looks at him inquisitively and he continues.

"You may think you do, Carol, but you don't. You're emotionally fragile at the moment, and your body is giving you a very strong imperative to reproduce. You think you're running out of time. But you're not, Carol."

He continues his pacing, finding it easier to speak with the distance between them. He can almost pretend they're discussing a case instead of the most intimate details of their lives.

"You're going to meet someone someday, and you're going to fall in love. And of course, he'll love you back. How could he not? It'll happen, Carol. You don't have to feel like time is slipping away from you."

"Sorry, Tony, I don't mean to be dense, but I still don't have a clue what you're talking about."

He's gazing at her intently, and she's surprised to see such a strength of emotion warring in his eyes.

"I grew up without a father, you know. And I'm not going to blame my eccentricities on that, but I know it affected me. Made me different from a lot of other boys. My mum…well….she wasn't much of a mum really. Not like you'll be. You'll be such a good mother. But that's not even the point."

He leans against the wall. Looking lost.

"Get to the point then."

"Alright, hypothetical. We go through with this. You have a baby. Two years down the road, three, you meet someone. And he's everything you've always wanted. He's smart and funny. Good looking. Probably even cooks. And I bet he's even very fond of Little Tony. It's going to be awkward, Carol."

"How so?"

"You're going to be resentful. You won't wish Little Tony away, of course, never that. You love him. He's your boy, isn't he? But you'll wish you had waited. And you'll need to direct that resentment somewhere."

"Tony…"

"Let me finish. Can you imagine how awkward that'll be? 'Oh, have you met Tony? My nutter friend? We work together sometimes, you know. And once I had his child.'"

Realization finally dawns on her.

"You'll resent me, Carol. You'll wish I had talked you out of it. I mean, you've got this perfect man, right there at your fingertips. Slowly but surely, you'll pull away. You'll stop calling. You won't need my help anymore. You'll want to get on with your life and I won't be a part of that. Pretty soon, it will just be you, and the man of your dreams, raising my child."

She rises, advancing on him, leaning against the wall uncomfortably close to him. She takes his face in her hands, and smoothes her hand over his hair. He holds his breath.

"I'd never call you a nutter."

Despite himself, he laughs.

"You say that now."

"I think you're talking a load of shit."

"Do you?"

"Yeah."

He waves a hand between them, pointing at himself.

"And you'd wish all this on a child. Bad coordination, poor social graces. Awful hair?"

"Your hair's not awful."

He snorts.

"Your eyes obviously are."

She smiles sadly at him.

"Tony, I think you underestimate your importance in my life."

"I know you're fond of me, Carol. I'm not totally daft."

"Tony…"

He cuts her off, pressing his lips gently to hers in a chaste kiss.

"Don't have a child BY someone you're fond of, Carol. Have a child WITH someone you love."

"And if that's not possible?"

He reaches between them and folds her hand into his.

"Then I'll go to the clinic with you and help you look through their books."

He pecks her quickly on the cheek, and just as quickly he's disappeared out her front door.


	4. Chapter 4

At the sound of a knock he looks up from his computer to see Carol silhouetted in glass panel of his office door

At the sound of a knock he looks up from his computer to see Carol silhouetted in glass panel of his office door. That fact that she has knocked at all serves only to point out the distance that has grown between them since she asked him to give her a child she'd prefer never knew its father. He closes the file he is working on and sighs gently before answering her.

"Come in."

She pushes the door open, shooting him a tentative smile. In her arms, she clutches two thick binders.

"Hope I didn't catch you at a bad time. Do you have a moment?"

"I don't have too long, I'm afraid. One of my students is coming in for help with his research project in a few minutes."

She looks disappointed and hugs the notebooks close.

"I'm sorry. I should have called first."

"No, it's all right." He gives her a conciliatory smile. "What have you got there? New case?"

Surprisingly, she blushes and it suddenly dawns on him just what exactly she holds to her chest.

"No, it's not work. It's...personal."

"How on earth did you get the clinic to release their books to you? I thought they usually expect prospective clients to come to them."

She has the decency to look sheepish.

"They do. I may have intimated that we had some loose ends to tie up regarding the murders."

Under normal circumstances, he would be impressed at her ingenuity, but their dynamic has shifted ever so slightly and he finds his reactions aren't exactly what they should be. It is disconcerting.

That damned silence settles in and she can sense his obvious discomfort.

"Look, I really should have called. I didn't mean to just barge in on you. I'll see you later."

"Carol..."

He knows she's just trying to keep things like they were and he appreciates the effort. She's at the door before he can spring from his chair.

"No, Tony, it's fine."

"I really do have a student coming, you know."

She blinks at him. "I didn't say you didn't."

"I know. I know you didn't."

He walks to her side and stands uncomfortably close. "I'm not avoiding you, Carol. And I'm sorry if I'm not being a good friend to you."

"I didn't say that either."

"No, but I've been a bit out of sorts, and you deserve better."

His proximity and the tone of his voice bring up a line of gooseflesh on the back of her neck. She wonders if he is aware of the physical effect he has on her. He remains too close for her comfort as he continues. "Let me apologize with dinner, hmm? I'll come round yours tonight, and we can have a picnic on your floor, spread out your books, and find some disgustingly athletic fellow for your genes to mingle with."

"Tony?"

"Yes, Carol?"

"Are we all right?"

"We're always all right. Aren't we?"

Before she can answer, there is a sharp rap on his door and they both jump. A tawny-haired youth sticks his head into the office.

"Sorry, I'm late, Dr. Hill! The bus was running behind schedule."

He enters and nearly runs directly into Carol.

"Oh! Sorry, ma'am. I'm not interrupting, am I?' Tony answers for her. 'No, Martin, Inspector Jordan was just leaving."

Carol nods her goodbye as she reaches for the door.

"Tonight, then."

Tony's hand closes over hers on the doorknob as his oblivious student settles into an office chair. She looks up at him, transfixed as he takes a step towards her. She finds herself caught by those eyes, every fiber in her being straining to catch his next words.

"I told you I really had a student coming."

Humor, as always, comes to their rescue, cutting the tension like a knife. She has no doubt that tonight will have it's share of awkward moments, but she still manages a smile. And she thinks that perhaps he's right. They'll always be all right. Won't they?

As promised, Tony arrives at her flat just after eight, fragrant parcels of food balanced precariously in his arms.

"I'm not eating for two _yet_, you know."

He thrusts a wine bottle at her, and she deftly manages to keep it from crashing to the floor.

"Good. Then I won't have to drink this all by myself."

She glances at the bottle and raises her eyebrows in happy surprise. "Brought the good stuff, eh?"

"It's my standard apology wine. I hope it goes with Indian."

"Mmmm. Anything goes with Indian. Especially if you're as ignorant as I am about wine. Here. Let me help you."

Carol opens the paper sacks, pulling out warm containers of biryani, sag paneer, tandori chicken, fish pakoras, and garlic naan. Tony fetches plates, glasses, and a corkscrew from her kitchen. Soon, they are both settled on the floor, their backs resting against the couch as they tuck into dinner. It's almost like old times. Carol suddenly doesn't feel so anxious to break out the binders of potential donors; instead she prefers to revel in the company of the man beside her. As if reading her mind, he says, "I'm going to miss this."

"What do you mean?"

He waves his hand at the dinner spread before them, the wine, and, finally, in her general direction.

"This. Dinner. Drinking. Being with you."

Unconsciously she leans closer to him. "It doesn't have to change, Tony."

"You think you'll still be in the mood for this when you haven't slept in a week and you've got a baby crying in the next room?"

"I'll just make you give him his bottle then I'll fall asleep on your shoulder."

"You won't drool on my shoulder, will you?"

"I make no promises, Dr. Hill."

Simultaneously they both reach for a second helping of naan, and their fingers collide as they settle on the last remaining piece.

"First you want my DNA, then you want my naan. Women. So bloody selfish."

They stare at each other, neither of them relinquishing the bread.

"You give me your DNA, and I'll give you the naan. Seems like a fair trade to me."

"It _is_ really good naan. I think I might actually come out the victor there."

Their playful banter is veering desperately close to sensitive subjects, so he sighs and reins it in. Best to concentrate on the task at hand.

"So, where are these books of yours? I suppose we should try to find your prince charming before the clock strikes midnight."

Now it's Carol's turn to sigh. She doesn't harbor a secret hope that he'll suddenly change his mind, but she's been enjoying the evening more than any in recent memory. It's been a reminder of just how much she relishes his company. She's had a fair number of lovers, but it suddenly hits her that she's never been as close to any of them as she is to Tony. Their relationship is at turns odd, difficult, and indefinable, but it is still the closest one she's ever had. She'd like to ask him to reconsider, but she certainly doesn't want a repeat of last time. She wants him in her life, whatever his terms are. So, she reaches for the first of the thick, black binders.

"Here we are. Bradfield men who, how did you put it? Donate sperm for beer money."

He screws up his face in distaste. "I did say that, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. So, are you going to help me or what?"

Carol lays the book between them and flips it open to the first entry. It's all pretty basic: Age, race, height, weight, and in some cases, a short bio indicating anything from occupational information to hobbies. Tony slides his finger along the biographical info, stopping at the last sentence.

"Do you really want to consider a musician? I'm fairly certain that if he were employed in a symphony orchestra he'd be doing weddings before he resorted to selling his sperm."

"I don't know. It does say he's six foot two. I might be willing to exchange brains and determination for the ability to reach things off the high shelves."

"Yes, a tall toddler. That sounds wonderful."

She flips the page and they read the next profile.

"A clinical psychologist who's five ten? Tony...how exactly did you pay for this bottle of wine?"

He laughs and refreshes their glasses.

"By tracking down homicidal nutters and serial rapists. But Harry Anderson, a colleague of mine, who I have a sneaking suspicion that he helps himself to an occasional treat from the chemists, is about the same height as I am. You don't want to mess about with him.."

Now it's her turn to laugh.

"I'll tell you what. Since you're obviously pickier than I am, why don't you page through this yourself and pick me out a perfect match while I figure out just how much this procedure is going to set me back."

She dumps the first binder in his lap and opens up the informational booklet. They sit in companionable silence, browsing and drinking, leaning against the couch. As the evening wears on, they move closer and closer together, until their shoulders are gently touching. If either of them notices, they make no effort to break the connection. Carol reaches the end of the financial information before Tony has finished his scrutiny of potential candidates.

"It's highway robbery what they want for this procedure! You could save me a lot of money by just taking me upstairs and seeing to it the old-fashioned way."

He grows rigid at her off-handed comment, and she curses inwardly. He turns to look at her, his normally vivid blue eyes looking tired and drawn.

"Don't tease me, Carol."

"I didn't mean to."

"You could have fooled me."

He rises to go, but her ire is up now and she's having none of it. She grabs him by the wrist before he can retreat and stands to face him.

"Oi! Don't you dare walk out on me, Tony."

"Pick a donor yourself, Carol. I can't imagine it'll make much difference one way or the other since you're so determined to do this all on your own." He's not actually yelling, but neither is his voice the balanced and controlled timbre of their usual conversation.

Her voice escalates to match his. "I DON'T want to do this on my own. If you recall, I asked YOU to father my child and you turned me down."

His composure is slipping. His reply surprises them both with his vehemence. "You most certainly did not."

"I beg your pardon?"

He advances on her and she finds herself backing up to avoid the intensity of his gaze.

"You didn't ask me to father a child with you. You asked me to be a donor, Carol. It's not the same thing."

"Semantics, Tony!"

"No, not semantics! Can't you see the difference?' His voice, previously so close to yelling, scales down to almost a whisper. It sounds like a caress. 'When we make love, there is a coming together. You allow me inside of you. You encompass me. It's a joining. Intimate. And you nurture the evidence of our intimacy inside you.' He presses his open hand to her stomach; the warmth of his touch radiates through her body. 'It's about two people, Carol. Two whole people, coming together to create something that eclipses themselves."

He withdraws his hand, and she's hit with an overpowering ache of yearning. All she wants is for him to touch her again. Instead, he waves his hand at the binders on the floor as he continues. "But, this? This is all about you. You want to create a life all by yourself and raise that life as you see fit. You don't need me. What's more, you don't want me. All you want from me is the raw material. You'll do all the creation by yourself. You'll do all the work, by yourself. You want me to wank into a paper cup and jog on!"

Realization hits her like a punch in the stomach, and she has to fight back tears.

"Tony...that night at Antonio's...was that meant to be a date?"

He doesn't answer her with words, but his eyes drop to the floor and the expression on his face speaks volumes. She lays her hand on his shoulder in what could be a friendly gesture, but the tension that crackles between them makes it seem anything but chaste.

"Tony...have I been asking you the wrong question?"

She knows she's hit a nerve when he bolts for the door without a word.


	5. Chapter 5

She's not surprised when her call to his mobile goes unanswered. She tries to relax, opens another bottle of wine, paces. She rings him again on his home line, but he still doesn't pick up. He's switched his answering machine off. She briefly considers driving to the station. Surely he'd take a call from her work line in case it was an emergency. As appealing as the idea is, it smacks of dishonesty and she nixes it. She also rules out storming his front steps and banging on his door. Too invasive. Experience tells her that confrontation is rarely the best way to deal with Tony. Email seems the least intrusive, but the cold, monochromatic words leave so much room for misinterpretation. After nearly two hours of stressful silence, in which he doesn't call, Carol finally heads off to bed. She'll think better on a good night's sleep, and, what's more, the bedroom seems to be the one place where she can actually entertain thoughts that seem too fanciful for her stoic living room and sensible kitchen. She knows that if she's going to find a way out of the mess she's created, she needs to start thinking about what happened tonight and what that could possibly mean for - dare she even think it - their future.

He'd touched her. He'd done it before, of course. He'd even kissed her chastely in the not so distant past. But he'd never touched her like he had this evening. His warm fingers, pressing softly into the flesh of her belly. She knew he was merely trying to stress a point, but the sense of possession had been overwhelming. His strong hand claiming her had nearly made her swoon. And just as quickly, he'd withdrawn. Pulled away. And in that instant she'd known, with utter certainty, the she wanted to feel him that close to her again. She wanted what he had talked about. Intimacy. Joining. Something that felt more terrifyingly real than anything she'd experienced with men she'd said, "I love you" to in the past.

In bed, she thinks of him. She imagines what it would be like to have him laying next to her, to feel the sheets rise and fall with his breath. How she'd kiss him goodnight. And what it would feel like if he stirred in the night and reached for her. For the first time in years, she allows herself to think of him this way, and she knows without a doubt that it's what she wants. She hopes that perhaps it might be something he'd like too. And tomorrow she plans to make it clear to him that she wants more from him than just the raw material.

It's a frightening thought, telling him, because it may change the nature of their relationship. No, not change. Dismantle. Knowing that she wants him might very well be the knowledge that pushes him away. It might bring him closer. Is he waiting for an invitation? Or is he just looking for a reason to bolt? She wishes she knew. There have been moments, charged moments of singular intensity where she was all but certain he was going to tear off her clothes and pin her to the nearest wall. And other confusing moments when she feared he'd disappear out her doorway never to be seen again. Admitting to him that she'd like him to be, not only in her life, but in her bed is a risk. One that she knows she has to take. She will have to be clear, concise, non-confrontational, and to the point. She thinks. Ponders. Mulls. Plots. And finally lights on an idea. A gesture that will leave little open to interpretation. She'll set the plan in motion in the morning. But first, sleep. And with her plan to take decisive action once and for all comes the most restful sleep she's know since meeting Tony Hill.


End file.
